The Harbinger of Evil
by Queen of the Scorpions
Summary: "I'm sick of all of this, I can't take it anymore, I'm done with it, I won't let you control me anymore... Voldemort." Tom's voice rang out in his head. Voldemort turned over if effort to find sleep. He was sure he was being paranoid, imagining things. Tom Riddle was dead... right? Tom Riddle's a good guy, Voldemort... not so much. Please Comment!
1. Chapter 1

Voldemort's point of view

It had been a long day. He had been working non stop for such a long time. Death Eaters were coming in and out of the room, bringing with them more bad news each second. The worst of it was Lucius, who told Voldemort that the latest attempt to steal the prophesy from the department of mysteries. At this Voldemort lost control. He tortured Lucius for around ten minutes, and forbid anyone to bother him again for the rest of the night, knowing full well nobody would be fool enough to when he was in this mood in either case.

Voldemort was exhausted. The last time he had been so tired was when he was back at the orphanage, at the age of eleven. That had been a wonderful, but very tiring day. He couldn't for the life of him place why he was so tired now though. He got into bed without changing. He was about to drop off to sleep, but suddenly he didn't feel tired anymore, he could feel his adrenaline rising as though he had just been scared by something, and a strong annoyance that didn't belong to him rose up inside of him.

"I'm sick of all of this, I can't take it anymore, I'm done with it, I won't let you control me anymore... Voldemort." Tom's voice rang out in his head. Voldemort turned over if effort to find sleep. He was sure he was being paranoid, imagining things. Tom Riddle was dead... right? He couldn't ignore the sudden changes in emotion, however. As he closed his eyes, the still young voice of Tom Riddle called out again. "When you drop off to sleep, I'll take over again." Voldemort laughed out loud, cruelly.

"You?" He thought firmly, knowing Riddle could hear him. "You're so weak, I was able to overpower you when you were at your peak mental fitness. Taking back control for more than an hour or so is completely impossible for you."

"I have no need for an entire hour... I'll have her get you out."

"You're bluffing."

"I'm not."

"You don't know where she lives."

"Yes I do, she told me."

"You'd never."

"Try me." Voldemort was scared now, and, evidently, Tom could sense it. He laughed at him.

The teasing, humorous, boyish laughter filled Voldemort's mind until he couldn't hear or think of anything else. It stopped even more abruptly than it started. "You say I'm the weak one, you truly are a fool, there's a reason you have never beat Dumbledore yet, because he's right and you're wrong." Tom had crossed the line. Using his immense skill of legilimency he pushed the young spirit back into the depths of his mind. He immediately felt drowsy again, and realized all the energy he had just possessed belonged to Tom. He nearly dropped off to sleep, but the thought of Tom's threat stopped him from doing so.


	2. Chapter 2

Tom's point of view

He would have to fall asleep at some point. Tom knew he would soon. Four days with no sleep had to put some sort of strain on Voldemort's spirit. Most people didn't know, but when you get tired it's not your body, though doctors would say otherwise, it's your spirit. Your spirit gets tired of keeping itself in place, and when you dream, your spirit is lingering outside your body. He was sure that anytime now Voldemort would fall asleep, or he would become weak enough to overpower. While Voldemort controlled Tom's body, Tom's spirit could leave whenever he wanted. He often kept an eye on Voldemort, standing next to his body, so he knew everything Voldemort did, but, since Voldemort had killed young Harry Potter's parents, Tom has been following the Potter boy around, and he had grown quite attached to him, and that is why he had to alert the world to Voldemort's existence... to protect Harry Potter, who reminded Tom so much of himself. He had always been there when Harry needed it, but nobody knew that, nobody had to know that, so it would stay that way.

Eight years ago

The little raven haired, emerald eyed boy was running almost as fast as Tom' spirit could fly. He was running from his pudgy cousin and his group of mindless lackeys. It made Tom angry to see the boy who rescued the wizarding world tormented daily by his own family. Tom hated to do what he was planning, but it would help Harry. He reached into Harry's mind, and pushed passed his spirit's influence, in a sense, possessing him. Harry would know exactly what was going on, but would have no control over his movements, Tom was sure Harry would chalk it up to panic. Using Harry's body, he turned on the spot, meaning to face The Dursley child and his cronies, but Harry must've been more panicked than Tom thought, because they ended up apparating to the top of the school building. Tom immediately jumped out of Harry's mind, as not to scare him further.

Five years ago

Dudley was at it again, and Tom was already angry with him. He was walking next to Harry while they were at the zoo. They were passing by different reptiles, while the pudgy Dursley boy was rapping on the glass, hard as possible, annoying the snakes and lizards.

"Sorry 'bout him." Harry whispered. Tom turned and realized Harry was talking to the snake. That made Tom feel even closer to Harry. Dudley pushed Harry roughly to the ground in order to get a look at the snake, that had risen to speak with Harry. Tom saw Harry's magical aura flare up. He jumped into Harry's mind again. Concentrating on the glass, he clenched his fist and it disappeared, sending the terrified pig of a child into the snake's terrarium. When the gleeful snake escaped, Tom set the glass back up, and jumped out of Harry's mind.

"Thanks." The snake hissed.

"Anytime." Harry answered, thinking he was the one who had made the glass disappear. Tom's plan had backfired latter, and that was when he decided to no longer interfere with Harry's life. He broke that vow...

Four years ago

Harry was standing in front of the mirror of erised. Tom could see what Harry was seeing. Harry had acquired the stone, and Voldemort was on to him.

"Well, what did you see, boy?" Quirrell asked roughly.

"Lie through your teeth." Tom hissed in Harry's ear, knowing Harry would think it was his own idea. That idea didn't necessarily help, but it didn't hurt either, Tom had forgotten it was almost impossible to lie to Voldemort. Voldemort was trying to convince Harry to join him.

"You want to see your parents again, don't you? Together we can bring them back. Just give me the stone." Tom knew Voldemort had hit Harry's weak spot.

"He's lying." He whispered to Harry. His eyes narrowed.

"You liar!" Harry bellowed. Tom was terrified for Harry, but he needn't have been, for when Voldemort came in contact with Harry his vessel had burned and fallen to ashes.

Present Day

Tom's spirit was still barely eleven years old, so it wasn't strong enough to overpower Voldemort, but, now that he was so exhausted, Tom might have a chance. He was tired of waiting. He knew it was a reckless idea, but it wasn't like anything bad could happen to him... right?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Tom's point of view

It was bright white, or at least it should have been. There were orbs hanging in the air, no visible means of holding them up. They were glowing, and different colors, they were memories. Green fog obscured the contents of all the memories belong ing to Voldemort. Tom could see but some of his own. The pink memories were his favorite, pink symbolized joy. Memories were flying passed him. Some of them were his, some he shared with Voldemort, some were the monster's alone. None of them here were pink. He was being careful, taking his time, there was no rush. The longer he waited, the easier it would be to gain control again. Tom was attempting to push past Voldemort's mental defenses, one after another, after another. Something stopped him, a pulsing red and gold light, it was beautiful, like phoenix fire. Smoke. Tom's mind was filling with smoke. No, that was silly. That's what it felt like. There was someone else there. Why? Who was it? Tom had to know. He made his way over to him. The boy, so familiar. Who was it. Couldn't think. Couldn't think. So tired. Why was he so tired? Falling. Falling through nothing. Sinking into darkness. Cold. He was so cold. Was he dying? How would that feel? The boy noticed him. The eyes. The emerald eyes. Harry, it had to be. Darkness, closing in around Harry's face. Voices. Voices were whispering. No, yelling. Whispering again. Back to yelling. Just talking now. What were they saying? No, they were gone. And back again. So confused. Needed help. Harry. He grabbed Tom's hand. Darkness. It was clearing. The voices. They were gone. The smoke, it was lifting. Everything was bright white, no dark green fog obscuring memories, in fact there were no memories at all. A picture was starting to take over. Papers, and a desk, some ink and a quill. An oil lamp beside him, burning brightly, casting shadows on the wall like long, dead fingers, reaching out for you.

A person was sitting at the desk, no, it was a monster. Both, it was Voldemort. He looked as though he were about to fall asleep. His eyes were even more red than usual. He was slouching badly. Tom stood... wait, stood? He looked down at himself. He was wearing black robes. He was much shorter than usual. He had his own body. That didn't make any sense. His spirit was eleven, but his body was somewhere around seventy, and how was Voldemort alive if he needed Tom's body as a host. The answer came to him. When Voldemort made Harry, the boy Tom felt was his older brother, participate in the ceremony to bring him back to life, he had created a new body, and no longer needed Tom's.

"Go ahead and drop off to sleep." Tom said, without knowing why. Voldemort's eyes widened. He stood, and made to draw his wand, but he fumbled, and dropped it. "You need sleep if you want to beat anyone." Tom sneered. " It's not like I can do anything to you now, anyway." With that he turned and ran, not knowing where he was running to, or who was down that way, but it wasn't Voldemort, and that's all he cared about at the moment... saving himself... his own worthless skin... he was acting just like the monster. He skidded to a stop. He was outside, but he didn't remember going through a door. How had he gotten out? He shook his head to clear it. Harry was out there, being treated like a liar and an attention seeking brat, all because he tried to protect everyone from Voldemort. Tom wanted to help him, maybe for the last time this time. To do that he needed to find _her_.

Harry's point of view

He had just woken up from the strangest dream. It wasn't of the graveyard, or Cedric. It wasn't of seemingly endless, dark corridors, with doors that swung wide open for him. It wasn't of Voldemort, not really any way. He was in a very strange place. It was bright, but there was fog. Beautiful and glowing orbs were hanging in mid air. There was a boy there, he looked like Tom Riddle, but at the age of ten, maybe eleven or twelve. He looked as though he'd been running from something, he ran into one of the orbs by accident, it seemed. He'd stopped dead in his tracks, just standing there, looking sick. He looked at Harry, but it didn't look like he knew who he was looking at, but then he smiled. He started falling backward and, without knowing why, Harry reached out and grabbed his hand. In a flash of white light, Harry had woken up. It wasn't green like the killing curse, it wasn't gold like the priori incantatem from the graveyard, it was white, pure, and honest. He'd never had a dream like that before, and he was sure he wouldn't have one again. He sat in a chair behind a desk, staring out the window. He was trying to figure out what the dream had meant. There was something about the fact that it was young Voldemort Harry was trying to help. It didn't make sense to him. After about a half hour he came up with a meaning. Voldemort may need to see true value in love and friendship, before I can take him down, it seemed silly, but that's all he could come up with. He sighed and went back to his bed. He turned over, trying to find sleep. It never came, but he didn't get up, he didn't want to, there was no reason to. He was in another one of his moods.

Voldemort's point of view

Tom had gotten out. How could that have happened? He had to have had help, but from whom? _She_ didn't know anything about Voldemort not really being Tom Riddle, so who could've helped him escape? Potter had almost free access into Voldemort's mind, but he wouldn't know how to set Tom free, unless he had some kind of power, Voldemort needed to hear the real prophesy for himself, word for word. He needed to know what this power was.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The Ghost

 _Her_ point of view

She woke up with a start. She had just had a very odd dream, in which Tom had been there, so had Voldemort, but they were not the same person. It was so far fetched, but a little part of her still wanted it to be real, she just wanted to fall back asleep and fall into that dream forever, and never wake up. Then, she could live in peace once again, she wouldn't have to blame herself for the way Tom turned out anymore. The logical part of her mind, however, knew that was not an option, she had a family to take care of, and a job to do, but, still, it would be nice, she could just drop in on him really fast, it wasn't like he could really do anything to her.

Tom's point of view

He was tiered, and cold, and hungry. He had forgotten what being hungry felt like, he didn't like it, nor did he the cold. He wasn't sure were he was, he could be anywhere in Britain, but he had to keep moving. He had to find someone who would be willing to tell him where Harry was, and had the information. It began to dawn on him, as he trudged through the tall, wet grass on that blustery night, that nobody who was trusted with Harry's whereabouts would tell him where he lived. Tom knew Harry stayed with the Dursleys, that they lived in Little Winging, but he didn't know anything else. The number four came to mind, but that didn't help much. He was huddled up under a structure in a muggle play ground, hoping the sun would suddenly pull away from the horizon, and higher into the sky, warming him and the rest of the world, but he knew he was just being silly. The sky turned a mixture of black, fading pleasantly to orange. It reminded Tom of the scenes he saw when Voldemort was at Hogwarts, at the halloween feast, with the live bats and glowing jack-o-lanterns, he found himself longing to be there, not as Voldemort's shadow, but as a real student, one that had real friends, who could actually talk to Harry for once, not just whisper suggestions into his ear.

He could maybe play quidditch, something Voldemort had always refused to do, or end up serving detention for being late for class, because he wasn't perfect and he liked that, or even just get lost, for the first time since he was eleven, in Hogwarts' maze-like corridors and secret passageways. He would love to go, to just be a kid, stumbling his way through courses, making mistakes and learning from them, with his friends behind him to pick him up off the ground when he needed, and for him to do the same for them. Wait a moment... Hogwarts! That was the one place Harry was going to have to end up, but that was out of the question too. Tom still didn't know where he was or even where Hogwarts was, for that matter. He needed help, but that wouldn't come. Or, at least he thought it wouldn't. He was proven wrong. A flicker of silver light, just as the last of the golden sun rays disappeared behind the hills. He was almost convinced he had imagined it. It happened again, then, another time, then again, except the last time the light didn't disappear, but it took a form. The form of a girl, just like a ghost.

Harry's point of view

He was pacing again, sure he would leave a lasting imprint in the carpet. He couldn't sit still. He kept pink items up as he walked, fidgeting with them, only to place them in the exact same place moments later. He couldn't set his mind to anything. He'd try to busy himself with one thing or another, but just couldn't think. He forced himself to stop moving, then threw himself down on his bed. Ow, that hurt, but pain was a distraction, and any distraction was welcome right now, preferably in the form of a letter of explanation, or, better yet, a fellow witch or wizard, ready to whisk him away to the burrow, but any distraction was a good one. He sighed deeply. It really was a cruel torture, locking him up like this, without any kind of hint or clue about what was going on with his friends. With a pang of something startling close to a feeling of betrayal in his chest, Harry thought about what Sirius had written to him,

"Can't say much in a letter, in case it gets intercepted, but I'll tell you everything I'm allowed to when I see you, just hang in there, and keep your nose clean." Right, that was all anyone could say to him lately, just hang on Harry, we're not going to tell you anything, because your delicate little mind won't be able to handle it. Just sit tight and let the grown-ups take care of everything. Be a good boy and stay out of trouble, and oh, don't worry your tiny brain over the war you're supposed to be fighting, you don't need to know anything about it.

Well, Harry was sick of being pushed aside and shunted off into a corner, or, more accurately, an attic room on Privet drive. What was there to be done about it, though? It wasn't like he could just walk out of the room, hop on his broom, and take off. It wasn't like he could make the adults take him seriously. It wasn't like he could just waltz into the ministry and say'

"Hey, I know you all don't believe me about Voldemort being back, but I'd like you to all just trust me blindly, without a single shred of evidence, because I swear I'm telling the truth." Oh, yeah, Harry could see that going over just peachy. The minister would say,

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry, I totally believe you," and right after that, Malfoy would apologize for everything he'd done, Voldemort would hug Dumbledore, Harry's parents would get up out of their graves, Sirius would shake hands with Snape, and Snape would dance the Macarena and give Harry a great big hug. Ha freaking ha. Like that was ever going to happen. No, nothing was going to change. He was going to be here, until September First. When he got to Hogwarts, his quest for knowledge would remain just as fruitless as it was now.

Hermione would say,

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry, I really wish I could tell you, but Dumbledore did make us promise." Then, Ron would nod his head vigorously, and the worst part would be, that Harry would believe they were sorry, and he'd probably forgive them. Harry stood from the bed and began tracing his original path in front of the window. There was a flash of silver light, followed immediately by a blinding white one close to the foot of Harry's bed. Harry blinked. Nothing but darkness. He'd imagined it, plain and simple, but then there was a second set of flashes, then a third, and then a fourth. On the fourth flash, the lights did not disappear. They morphed from glowing orbs, to long ovals, then, the ovals began to change into the rough outlines of human figures. The silver one, a tall woman, the white one a small boy. Realization and recognition coursed through Harry, along with a jolt of fear.

"Bloody h..."

Tom's point of view

The light cleared, almost completely. A tall, pale woman with black hair, black eyes that shined like gems, and a thin scar running over her black stained lips. She was wearing a black, lacy dress shirt and black, well ironed slacks. A lace shall of the same color was wrapped around her shoulders, and high-heeled black boots adorned her feet. Even though she dressed like that and had a scar, Tom had always thought she was beautiful, but then again, that was probably just because she was, well, _her_. Tom also thought she looked kind, but that was probably just because he knew her. She was old, older than Voldemort, but you would've never guessed it. Her skin was smooth and as youthful as Tom's. She smiled, and suddenly, Tom wasn't so cold anymore.

"I know what's going on Tom, darling. I'm here to help you." She said tenderly. Tom felt rather than heard himself whimper and launched himself into her arms.

Harry's Point of view.

His hand shot for his wand, only to find it missing.

"Your wand's over here, Harry." Harry froze as Tom poked Harry's wand toward him. He snagged it away from him, quick as a flash.

"What is going on?" He demanded.


End file.
